


The Prodigal Son

by Kadorienne



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 16:29:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2699624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kadorienne/pseuds/Kadorienne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki's real father was the king of Jotunheim. In his calculations, Odin forgot to include Loki's real mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Prodigal Son

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally published in the zine [Hope Rising](http://grumblybear.com/charity_zine.htm).
> 
> This story was written after last summer's _Thor 2_ prelude comics but before the trailers for _Thor 2_ ruined all Asgardians for me. Members of Loki's Resistance will probably like it, but it's not really a Resistance fic.
> 
> Thor is barely in the story, so no warnings there.

Farbauti was on the throne her husband had bequeathed to her when Odin arrived in a blast of rainbow light. She held herself unmoving, looking down upon him and his small pink companions - all armed to the teeth and looking about themselves fiercely. Among them were the hotheaded warriors who had accompanied the yellow-haired berserker when he had come here on his mission of murder. The gaudy colors of their clothes and the gleam reflected from the armor their soft forms required hurt her eyes, but she regarded them steadily.

Every Jotun present conjured a blade of ice and held it ready.

“Father!” Her prisoner strained at the ice which held him in place at the foot of her throne. He was not so difficult to subdue without his magic hammer. All she’d had to do was make certain to knock him unconscious before he realized he was under attack. By the time he had wakened, he was in another realm, his hammer far away.

Odin’s eye went to Thor. “Release my son or bring war upon your realm, Farbauti.”

She lifted her hand and swords of ice shot up from the ground around Thor. One stopped with its point pressed into the flesh above Thor’s heart. Others drew wet red drops of blood from his throat. When he tried to lurch away, his back met the cold hard points of more ice spikes behind him.

Thor stilled himself, fury in his eyes. That fury was mirrored in the eyes of the Aesir and their swords trembled in their hands, but Odin held up his hand and they forced themselves to wait.

Farbauti spoke into the taut silence, her voice clear and carrying. “You may war upon us, son of Bor, but your brat will still be dead. You have a chance to save him.”

Odin looked at his heir. Then back to Farbauti.

“What is it you want, Farbauti? The Casket fell into the Void when Thor was forced to destroy the Bifrost to save your world.”

Was she supposed to thank him? It was because of Odin that her world had been endangered to begin with. That her world had been slowly dying for the past millennium.

“An exchange. A son for a son.”

Comprehension spread over the faces of the Aesir. Odin’s mouth twisted. “You want your spawn back? You may have him and welcome. I should have left him to die here as a child.”

Cold wrath stormed through her, but she kept herself in check. “Deliver my son to me and you may have yours back. Those are my terms, son of Bor.”

 

A short while later, the sky shimmered and the lost prince of Jotunheim fell out of it. As agreed, Farbauti shattered the ice which held Thor and shoved him to the Bifrost spot. The foster brothers scarcely had time to exchange a glance before the wretched pink and yellow beast was gone.

Rage swept icily through Farbauti when she saw that her son - her _son,_ a prince of Jotunheim - was shackled and muzzled like an animal. As if the alien coloring Odin had imposed upon him was not insult enough.

Loki rose to his feet at once, alert green eyes taking in everything - the impassive Jotnar watching their queen, ice and broken rock as far as the eye could see - before fixing on her. He made no futile attempt at escaping, simply waited. She ascended from her throne and stepped to him. He lifted his chin, holding her gaze steadily. He thought she was going to execute him and was going to die with dignity.

Farbauti’s heart swelled with pride. Her son  _was_ a prince, even if he had been raised by barbarians.

More than a thousand years ago she thought she had left him in a place of safety, the temple of Jotunheim. She and Laufey had believed their newborn son one of the many Jotnar murdered by Odin, and grieved. Little had she dreamt that Odin had stolen the boy and molded him into their enemy.

Of all the things Odin had taken from her, this was the one she could reclaim.

“You need fear no harm here, my son.” Her nod indicated the throne room - open to the bracing winds and gently glowing skies, as was Jotunheim’s custom. Warmbloods were so fragile they required shelter even from the sweltering air of their own realms.

His eyes widened at the words and he studied her intently, likely searching for resemblance or answers, but he did not look reassured. He darted a glance around at the other Jotnar present, dozens assembled before the throne to witness the return of their lost prince. Some of them could not hide the loathing in their faces - she would have to keep Loki by her side for a long time, to protect him - but her people obeyed her commands; none of them made a move towards their tiny prince, none conjured a weapon of ice.

She had maternal sentiment driving her. As for her people, they knew that with their royal family decimated by the sons of Odin, Loki could be valuable to them - if he wished to be. All the realms knew that Asgard’s younger prince was a powerful sorcerer.

Now that she was close she could see the runes on Loki’s shackles, caging his magic.

Odin had acted as Loki’s father for a thousand years and now was willing to hand him over to enemies completely defenseless. Yet again Farbauti wished that her husband’s challenge to that monstrous realm had been successful.

“Has it truly not occurred to you that you can shatter those manacles with a thought?” she asked Loki.

Calculation was visible in Loki’s eyes. Green was a peculiar color for eyes, but at least the alien hues of his false form were more pleasant than those of many of the Aesir; no glaring yellow like the pitiless sun, no searing red or orange like fire.

As she watched, Loki’s hands shifted to their natural blue shade as he utilized the Jotun freezing touch as if he had been using it all his life. The metal around his wrists froze and shattered, the shards tinkling to the icy ground. He lifted his hands to the muzzle and did the same to it.

He licked his chafed pink lips before he spoke. “There was no sense shedding my bonds when I was surrounded by heavily armed warriors eager to beat me to a pulp.”

“You have patience,” she said, approving. “And your foster brother does not seem to have benefited from your influence.”

His eyes flickered but he said nothing about the Odinson.

“You risk your throne by sparing my life,” he pointed out. “The sensible thing would be to hand me over to the families of my victims. They would be grateful to you.” Enough Jotuns inhaled sharply at these words that Farbauti could hear it over the wind. If she could get them through this moment, they would remember that he had offered himself, and respect him for it.

She felt her lip curl. “I see how Odin has maintained his power. I should count myself lucky he was not willing to sacrifice his own son.”

That flicker again. Her son still had feelings for his foster brother. She must learn what they were in time.

“You truly think you can shield me from the vengeance of your people? How many of them have I killed?”

She looked around at the others. She had invested weeks in long earnest discussions and ringing speeches to bring them to this moment. “Whose fault was it that my son believed that destroying his native realm was a righteous thing to do?”

“Odin’s!” The cry rose up from a dozen throats. The name was spoken like a curse.

“Will you accept my stolen son as one of us if he proves his loyalty to Jotunheim?”

“Aye!” This time the cry shook the ice beneath them. Farbauti’s work had borne fruit. She had convinced them that Loki was their best hope of restoring their realm. A clever prince, skilled in diplomacy and full of powerful magic. And with reason to oppose Odin Borsson.

And Odin had thrown away, first the lad’s loyalty, and then the lad himself. The All-Father was a complacent fool.

She put a soothing hand on Loki’s small shoulder. His false form burned her hand, but she did not remove it until he flinched at her cold touch. “Lopt.”

“Is that - is that what you named me?”

“It is your real name. You have a choice, Lopt. My son. You may remain our enemy and take your chances. Or you may use your seiðr and your guile to benefit your people, and earn their trust in return.” She leaned closer, sorrowful at how her own son had to brace himself not to back away. “I am giving you what Odin never did. A chance.”

For an instant there was despair in her son’s alien face. Already he had accepted his own death. Now he was offered what must seem to him little better, reared as he had been to despise his own realm and revere the beast who had abducted him.

But the will to survive was strong in him. She could make use of that. Given time she would show him the value of what he had been denied.

She saw the decision in the set of his jaw before his sickly pink coloring faded and for the first time in over a thousand years she saw her son’s true face. The gracefully curving lines on his visage mirrored her own almost identically. That must be how Odin had known the infant Lopt’s identity. His ruby eyes met hers with determination.

He said nothing, only lifted his hands - his eyes strayed to them for a moment, taking in the unaccustomed color - and sent his seiðr into the dying ground of his native realm.

The ground of Jotunheim shimmered at his touch, and quickened with icy new life.

 


End file.
